


These Words I Have Known

by rosycheeked



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Alternating, Self-Sacrifice, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosycheeked/pseuds/rosycheeked
Summary: Harry has spent a lifetime studying five words.Fate is ours to change. And it is. Harry will not let fate win over him. Not today, not ever. Because if that’s what it takes, he will change fate.Those five words changed his life. They were his life. And now, he will use them to save Draco’s.





	These Words I Have Known

**Author's Note:**

> Look! I wrote something with plot. And a story arc. It's only 3800 words, but I'm proud that I actually got through it, and it almost makes sense! Yay!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> E

Harry Potter had gotten his soulmark when he was 7 years old. He had thanked God it was on his chest, so it was easy enough to hide from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who would likely have blown their tops if they knew of this magical mark that was yet another reason he was different from “normal” folk.

When he awoke on his seventh birthday, it had just been there, five little words in looping cursive that looked fancy and...rather lonely.

 _Fate is ours to change_ , they said.

Harry had searched everywhere for any information about these mysterious words, had tried to wash them off, had tried asking about them, to no avail.

So he learned to hide them, and never mention them, and he only looked at them when he was alone, in his cupboard.

He would run his fingers over them, and whisper them, over and over, and he wouldn’t feel so alone.

...

Harry had gone to Hogwarts when he was 11 years old. He had kept his old habit of hiding his words, wondering if this was just another curse he had, another thing that set apart ‘the Boy Who Lived’ from everyone else.

That is, until he was trying to do his Charms reading in the common room one night. Ron and Seamus were talking in hushed voices by the fire, and Seamus had his sleeve pushed up and was gesturing to his forearm proudly. Intrigued, Harry stopped reading to listen.

“Mine’s ten words, ten whole words,” Seamus was saying.

“Bloody hell, that’s lucky. Mine’s only two,” Ron whispered. “‘I wish,’ it says, what sort of soulmark is that? ‘I wish.’” He harrumphed, looking away from Seamus’s exposed arm.

Harry’s mind was whirling. Soulmark? Was that what his words were? Was he not alone after all?

When he asked Hermione, approaching her in the library the next afternoon, she looked at him strangely.

“Harry,” she said slowly, “you don’t know what a soulmark is?”

Harry blinked. “Should I?”

She shook her head. “I suppose you wouldn’t.” She looked off in the distance, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hermione?” He waved a hand in front of her face. “Can you...explain them to me?”

Hermione’s gaze snapped back to his face, and her expression changed into one he knew very well. It was the _I’m about to give an intelligent speech_ expression. She took a deep breath, folding her hands. “A soulmark is a tattoo every witch or wizard receives on their seventh birthday. It is anywhere from one word to a sentence. It is the last words your soulmate ever says to you.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “So...you only know they’re your soulmate right before you die? Or they die?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “Anything earlier would be a bit like cheating, I think.”

He looked at her for a moment, considering. “Hermione, what does your soulmark say?” He hesitated. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if it’s a private thing, I can—“

She smiled, cutting him off. “Sure,” she told him, unclasping her watch from her wrist and showing him the underside.

 _I love you, Hermione_ , it said in slightly shaky, spidery handwriting, which looked oddly familiar.

“Usually they have...things like this, what you say to the person you love before you pass, you know?” She looked up at him, because suddenly he was standing and when had that happened? “Harry? Are you all right? What does yours say?”

He was nodding jerkily, and walking off on auto-piloted legs, because of course. Just when he had thought maybe he was normal, just this once. Of course he had to be different in this, too.

Because somehow, all of the wizarding world wanted a piece of him, and yet his own goddamn soulmate didn’t love him. Didn’t want him. Would die, without even a declaration of love to be remembered by. His soulmate wanted to change fate so that they wouldn’t have to be together.

It was just his luck, wasn’t it? The Savior, the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter—it didn’t matter, because he was destined to be alone. 

...

Harry had become an Auror when he was 18 years old. Young, wasn’t it? But he was grateful, nonetheless, to be able to fulfill a dream. His dream, he told himself. This was _his_ dream.

The war was won, and they’d survived, and they were happy. Or, everyone was happy, it seemed, except for Harry.

Harry, who had won the war for them, and still felt like a part of him was missing.

But he kept fighting, never stopping, because he was powerful, after all, and it was what he was destined to do.

So he fought, and his body was full of adrenaline so often that he almost forgot the longing. Almost, but in the dark of his room, in his silent house, he would run his fingers over his words, whispering them again and again and wishing that he wasn’t so alone.

...

Draco Malfoy had graduated Hogwarts when he was 19 years old. He had gone back to finish his NEWTs.

He had wanted to be an Auror since he was 7, since he had gotten his words, which said, _Please, Draco, stay_. He assumed he would die on the field, in his soulmate’s arms, his soulmate begging him to not die, to stay. So he would become an Auror, for he knew it was his fate to die on the field for his soulmate. With his soulmate.

Oddly enough, he and Granger had gotten rather close, despite her know-it-all attitude and ridiculous hair (which was admittedly less ridiculous, now that she was using some sort of product on it). 

He had been the only Slytherin to go back, and she had given him what he thought was pity at first, but then he realized—she was rather lonely, too. 

Potter and Weasley had gone straight on to the Ministry, to be Aurors, of course, and being the golden boy he was, Potter was accepted without having to take any of his NEWTs. Draco, however, was told he had to pass his NEWTs with flying colors in order to even be considered. 

And you’ll never guess what happened.

No, really, you won’t.

Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the founding member of the Golden Trio, the most famous magical person since Merlin and Morgana—Harry Potter himself went to the Minister on behalf of Draco.

And Draco had been blown away, really he had been, even though he knew it was Hermione behind the scenes, Hermione pulling the strings (and apparently she was Hermione in his head now, huh).

Draco was blown away when he was accepted as an Auror at 21, even though he had passed his NEWTs with flying colors anyway. He’d almost done as well as Hermione, having equivalent scores except she had an O in History of Magic to his E. 

Draco was blown away when he finished his Auror training in what would have been record time had Potter not come through first and crushed all the records under his feet.

Draco was blown away with how his life was going (surprisingly well, actually) until he was assigned Harry fucking Potter as his Auror partner.

And the little voice in his head said that he should be over childhood enmity and this was an excellent opportunity for change. 

So Draco would be friends with Potter, if that was what it would take. They would work together, fight together, and risk their lives together.

Thus the Potter-Malfoy partnership was begun.

...

Draco had repaid his life debt to Harry Potter when he was 23 years old.

Harry had gone into a burning building to get a civilian out of the Fiendfyre.

It was so typical of Harry to do this. He would always go with his gut feeling often without telling Draco anything beforehand, and put his life after others’ every single time.

Draco did not think that Harry understood how stressful it was to have his partner continuously endangering himself. Draco did not think Harry could survive without Draco’s calming influence, his rationale, his carefully laid out (often disregarded) plans. 

Draco did not think he could survive with a partner other than Harry. Draco did not think he would take half as many risks without Harry egging him on. Draco did not think he would enjoy his job half as much without being able to tease Harry, to banter with him, to argue with him.

Draco did not think he could bleed and fight with someone he did not trust. And somehow he trusted Harry as implicitly as he trusted himself. It was almost strangely instinctual, trusting Harry.

They had been tending to the wounded, those they had saved already, when someone yelled, “where’s Mum? Mum’s still in the building!” And Draco had known, in the space of one breath, before he even had a chance to turn around, that Harry was gone, run off back into the building. 

He was not prepared, however, for the same man’s cry of “Bloody hell! The building’s coming down!” He was not prepared to turn around and see the building, now completely enveloped in green flames, fast crumbling. The entrance was already blocked by debris. He knew without a doubt that Harry was inside. Harry was trapped inside. Harry was going to die.

And Draco would be damned if he let that happen to the Savior of the Wizarding World. To his partner. His...friend?

Before his brain even processed what was going on (outside and in his goddamn overthinking head), Draco had already Apparated into the building. He saw Harry out of the corner of his eye, turning sharply, getting a face full of burning green fire—he could hear Vincent’s pained cries, screaming his name—and his breath caught in his throat. His vision started narrowing, and and heart constricted, pounding in his throat.

He lunged for Harry with the last of his strength, grabbing tight and Apparating out with a crack, and then fully succumbed to the darkness. To the flashback, and the guilt and pain all over again.

When he came to, he was lying on a sidewalk, and everything hurt, and he opened his eyes to the face of Harry Potter.

It was a bit burned, and his glasses had clearly snapped and been spelled back together (messily, typical), but it was Harry. And they were both alive.

“You had a panic attack,” Harry blurted, suddenly. 

“Really?” Draco deadpanned. “Now here I though it was a happy dream about Quidditch.”

“Draco,” sighed Harry, and his voice had too much pity in it, this was why he hadn’t told him, “you were screaming Crabbe’s name.”

Draco blinked. “Hey, I just realized, I saved your life!”

Seeming to catch on to Draco not wanting to talk about the flashback, Harry went with the subject change. “Yep, you no longer owe me a life debt, Draco Malfoy. How does it feel?”

“Wonderful,” Draco said dryly. “I hurt all over, my leg is bleeding, and my head is pounding.”

But now Harry wasn’t listening. “You saved my life,” he murmured.

“We did establish that just now, yes. Anything else? Maybe some sympathy? Or water?”

Harry’s intense gaze met his, and for once his eyes didn’t remind him of roaring green flames, of jets of light and silent deaths, of bad memories. They reminded him of forests full of laughter, and glittering emerald necklaces around his smiling mother’s neck, and second chances. “Thank you, Draco,” he said, but it seemed like he was saying something else.

...

Harry is 25 years old when he knows it is the day he is going to die.

He and Draco have been chasing the same Dark witch for five months while she murders everyone from Quidditch players to bookstore owners to children, Squibs and students and Muggles alike, the death toll rising exponentially every day.

And now, the witch has given them her ultimatum. She says if one of them surrenders themselves to her to be killed, she will surrender, but if the two of them go to her to try to attack, she will kill them both. She’s put some sort of force field around them, and they can’t contact anyone. They are alone with a terrible choice.

Harry knows, deep down, that Draco can singlehandedly defeat her, perhaps even do better than Harry could, but it has to be Harry. It’s always been his destiny to die for others, and this woman is a murderer, it’s worth it.

He looks at the black portal-looking thing that she had conjured and then disappeared through. He is bracing himself to go in when he sees Draco sprinting towards the portal himself. 

Harry runs at him and tackles him to the ground. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sacrificing myself, Harry, what does it look like I’m doing?” Draco raises his eyebrows at him, and their faces are too close together.

Harry leans back a bit. “I was about to go through. What were you thinking? I’m the one who’s supposed to sacrifice myself.”

“It’s not always about you, Harry. Some of us need a turn to save the world, too, and today it’s mine.” Draco’s eyes lock with Harry’s, and they’re so vulnerable, so different from his steely words.

“Not today, Draco. If you go in there you’re going to die. It’s my fate to die, not yours! You’re still so young.”

“So are you, Harry! And you know what?”

“What?”

“Fate is _ours_ to change.”

And time fucking stops. It’s every cliché he’s ever read in a soulmate novel. The whole thing just clicks together, the world seems brighter, and what a day it is to fall in love!

Draco Malfoy, his soulmate. It is laughable, truly. But everything makes sense now.

The way Draco had ignored him for two days after he skipped the pub for a date with Ginny’s coworker.

The way Harry’s heart beat a little faster when he saw Draco, usually impeccable, half-asleep and ruffled, sipping his morning coffee.

The way he always felt jarred after Draco said his first name.

The tired way that Hermione always told him, _you’re so dense sometimes, Harry_.

The way Harry had thrown himself in front of five (count ‘em, five) deadly spells aimed for Draco.

The way his soulmark would burn, just a little, when Draco’s gaze met his. Like right now. Because whatever Harry said next had been written on Draco’s skin for almost his whole life.

Harry stands up off of Draco. He takes a deep breath, eyes still locked with his, both of their feet stuck in place. Draco licks his lips, and Harry’s heart thuds as his words burn and burn and he says, “Please, Draco, stay.”

And Harry sees the moment where Draco stops breathing, his eyes frozen wide, searching Harry’s. Harry knows those are the words written on Draco’s skin as surely as Draco knows it himself.

But it isn’t enough. It hasn’t happened like he imagined, he hadn’t been rejected, because he had seen, in that split second, an emotion that was more than fondness, more than friendship, in Draco’s eyes. How long has Draco loved him?

How long has everyone else known that Harry loved him back?

Harry has never been the smartest person. Certainly, he’s powerful, he attracts trouble, he’s famous—he’s not stupid. But he’s not brilliant either.

In this moment, though, it strikes Harry what he has to do. What he must do to save Draco. His soulmate.

He has spent a lifetime studying five words. _Fate is ours to change_. And it is. Harry will not let fate win over him. Not today, not ever. Because if that’s what it takes, he will change fate. 

Those five words changed his life. They were his life. And now, he will use them to save Draco’s.

Harry opens his mouth, and he feels some sort of force, wrapped around his vocal cords. Fate doesn’t want him to speak. He’s not supposed to be able to speak, he’s not supposed to want to speak.

He’s not called the most powerful wizard alive for no reason. He focuses his mind and bursts in a raw display of power, throwing Draco back.

And his throat is released.

“I love you,” he says, his eyes never leaving Draco’s.

Draco’s mouth opens and closes and then he doubles over in pain, clutching at his chest.

And Harry rips his eyes away, tears (when did he start crying?) streaming down his face, and steps through the portal, his head held high.

Today, he found something to live for. Someone to die for.

...

Draco is 25 years old when he hears his soulmate words.

And you know what? He’s only half surprised when he hears them. He’s been in love with Harry for three years. He’s only surprised because that means he’s going to die today.

Somehow, he’d known it would end this way. With Harry, it had been too good to be true—too easy, too simple. Everything Harry did was just so...right.

So when Harry said his words, pleaded with him to stay, Draco wanted to smile and laugh and cry. He wanted to stay, he wanted to kiss Harry, oh, he wanted.

But before Draco can even move, Harry’s eyes flash with that warning look Draco has seen one too many times—he’s about to do something rash—and then he explodes in a burst of power. Draco’s vision whites out for a moment, and when it clears, he’s on the ground, back throbbing.

Harry’s looking back at him with a look that is so resigned, so defeated, and yet Draco can see the sheer determination behind it all.

It’s the most powerful raw use of magic Draco’s ever seen—then he realizes what Harry’s doing, watches as Harry opens his mouth, his beautiful, piercing green eyes glittering with tears—and Harry uses Draco’s own words against him. Harry changes fate. Harry says, “I love you.”

Draco’s skin feels like it’s on fire. His words, his soulmate words, are burning. They’re changing, because now all his chest says is, “I love you.” And all Draco can think is that Harry loves him, his soulmate loves him, Harry’s his soulmate, and he’s about to die.

But when the pain clears, Harry’s gone. Draco looks up at the sky, blue and pale; there’s a nest on a tree right outside the force field he’s trapped in. The breeze is ever so gentle, and from somewhere the haunting melody of a bird drifts by. It’s a beautiful day to find forgiveness, it’s a beautiful day to fall in love; it’s a beautiful day to die for your people, for forgiveness, for the love that you’ve somehow always known.

The ground begins to vibrate, and he sees the portal starting to close. It’s shaking, and sparks of darkness are flying out of it.

And Draco, for once, follows Harry’s lead. He doesn’t plan. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He just walks through the portal, right after Harry. Because what kind of soulmate would he be if he just stood by while the love of his life sacrificed himself?

The portal spit him out onto a dark grey marble floor. He is in a vast hall, all made of smooth black and grey stone. It reminds him of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, only with a fraction of the candles, and completely black, without any of its warmth or beauty. This place is unforgiving.

He looks up, and Harry is just standing there, arms at his sides, looking straight ahead, at the witch. Her wand, a dark, crooked thing, is pointed at Harry. 

They seem to be locked in some sort of mental battle, and neither have noticed Draco. So Draco reaches for his wand in his pocket—and his hand closes on empty air. It had to have disappeared when he came through the portal. And when he opens his mouth to cast something wandless, he can’t seem to speak, either. He knows that has to be Fate, though, not wanting him to change Harry’s words. 

How can he help Harry if he can’t do any magic? How can he stand here, powerless, and watch Harry be struck down in front of him?

He is looking right at Harry when he returns. Draco’s head snaps around to look at the witch, who is opening her mouth to cast the Killing Curse, he knows it—this is how it ends, this is how Harry will die—but Draco will lay down his life if that’s what it takes. 

Draco’s never been incredibly powerful. He’s survived with his wits and his rationale many a time. This time, they won’t save him. He’s not powerful enough to do what Harry did, to be able to speak. 

So as the witch shrieks, “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Draco jumps in front of Harry, and as their lips touch, he feels a rush of power through him. He feels more invincible than he’s ever been, with Harry in his arms. 

Taking a deep breath, he holds him close, and together, they shatter in a burst of light that’s pure and white and blinding, and they fall to the ground.

The witch screams, high and shrill, but no one hears.

...

Hermione Granger is 25 years old when she Apparates to a site of an explosion of Dark magic to find her two closest friends collapsed in each other’s arms.

She directs the team of Aurors towards the slightly mangled body of the likely culprit, a witch Harry and Draco have been chasing for—what was it, three or four months? 

Crouching beside them, she checks for injuries, but miraculously there isn’t a scratch on either of them. She notices as she steps back that there is a circle around them, about a meter in diameter, that is completely empty and without any rubble. 

Taking out her wand, she casts a quick _Rennervate_ on each of them. She watches as Draco comes to first—and instead of making sure the witch is apprehended (she is) or that he is okay (yep, Hermione checked), he looks at Harry. Harry, who has woken up and only has eyes for Draco, too.

“We’re not dead,” Harry whispers, and his voice is raspy but it’s full of wonder.

Draco laughs, and it sounds teary, disbelieving. Hermione looks away, feeling like she’s intruding in a private moment (that should have happened long ago, it shouldn’t have taken them nearly dying). Even a few steps away, she can hear the tremble in Draco’s voice when he says, “I love you, too.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Hermione considers turning around, but then Harry gasps and she hears him say, “Draco, look at my words.”

And Draco’s intake of breath tells Hermione what happened even before he says anything.

“It’s changed. Harry, we changed fate! See, I was right!”

“Only you would make this about being right.”

Hermione refrains from saying that in this case, she was the one who was right, all along.

She can hear the smile in Draco’s voice when he says, “It was you, Harry. It’s always been you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I hope you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it!
> 
> Please don't hesitate to comment with any thoughts or suggestions.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> E


End file.
